


Sketchbook Dreams

by dydrmrnghtthnkr



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dydrmrnghtthnkr/pseuds/dydrmrnghtthnkr
Summary: “I think that hypothetical Isabelle Lightwood would have no more trouble getting a hypothetical someone to fall in love with her than the real Isabelle Lightwood.” Clary looked up and caught her eyes for just a moment, smiling shyly.And then she was gone.Isabelle slumped back into her seat. She covered her face with her hands. She was so screwed.-Alternatively, three times Isabelle tried to tell Clary she liked her and the one time she succeeded.





	1. Chapter 1

_ The first time Isabelle tried to tell Clary she liked her was a carefully calculated effort. She’d planned it out in her head, deemed it foolproof, and was certain nothing could go wrong. Naturally, it failed.  _

  
  


“So, hypothetically, say I had a crush.”

Isabelle waited expectantly for a reaction. Upon receiving nothing, she coughed pointedly.

 

“That’s nice.” Clary said, not even looking up from her sketchbook. Isabelle felt a surge of irritation that disappeared as soon as it came, replaced with an exasperated fondness. She was used to how absent-minded Clary could get by now. After all, she’d had to learn  _ some _ things about a person after rooming with them for two years.

“Clary,” she said again, “didn’t you hear? I said-”

“I heard you the first time, Iz.” Clary murmured, as she continued to shade. She paused for a moment, a slight tilt to her head. Her red hair covered her face but Isabelle could imagine what Clary’s expression looked like: all pursed lips and narrowed eyes as she surveyed her work critically. She looked up briefly to look for her coffee, smiling in thanks when Isabelle pushed it closer.

“Oh really? What did I say then?” Isabelle sipped at her own coffee, which was awful and bland. If it was anyone else, Isabelle wouldn’t have agreed to hang out here. They served horrible coffee and everyone always looked judgmentally at Isabelle’s small, tight-fitting clothes. But Clary liked it because of the small table in the back corner, and insisted that it was homey, and well, when Clary asked her to do things Isabelle went weak-kneed. Clary in general made Isabelle weak-kneed. If it was anyone else blatantly ignoring her, she would’ve (admittedly) started to lose her temper by now. But all she did now was smile gently as she caught two of Clary’s pencils just before they rolled off the table. 

Clary grinned sheepishly as she reached for the pencils Isabelle had rescued from a sudden and untimely death. “Okay, so maybe I wasn’t listening-” 

“I knew it,” Isabelle muttered, but there was no venom in her voice.

“ _ But _ ,” the redhead continued, pretending to look stern at the interruption, “I’m listening now.”

And to prove her point, she carefully fit her pencils into a box (Isabelle recognized it as the one she’d gotten Clary for Christmas and felt a flash of happiness) and flipped her sketchbook closed. 

“Okay,” Clary said, “no distractions now. What did you want to tell me, Izzy?”

Isabelle felt the air get knocked out of her lungs as Clary looked at her with piercing green eyes. 

 

She knew what she had to say. It was simple, easy, and she’d planned it out. No way it wouldn’t work. 

_ So, hypothetically, say I had a crush _ , she’d say. And then Clary would look at her with questioning green eyes, and she’d pause meaningfully, then say,  _ on you _ ,  _ Clary, a crush on you. Hypothetically, say I had a crush on you. _

And Clary’s eyes would widen, and her breath would hitch, and then she’d beam and-

But of course, Isabelle had to say the words first.

 

Clary was still looking at her expectantly when she closed her eyes and began tentatively, “S-so.”

Isabelle swallowed hard. She sounded like Alec, and while she loved her brother dearly and would do anything for him, she had no wish to emulate him while confessing her undying love for Clary. 

“So.” She said again, more strongly.

Clary smiled patiently. “So,” she repeated.

“Hypothetically,” Isabelle said casually, “say I had a crush.”

Clary looked at her with questioning green eyes. Isabelle mentally fist-pumped; it was all going to plan. So far, so good.

“On-”

 

And then Isabelle’s phone rang.    

 

She and Clary both jumped at the sound, and Isabelle fumbled with her phone as she wrenched it out of her black purse. She hissed when she saw that it was Jace calling. Normally, she would ignore whoever was calling if she was doing something important (and this was  _ very important _ ), but Jace never called her,  _ ever _ , so she reluctantly answered. He’d better have a good excuse for calling now, of all times.

 

“Hello?” She forced out, teeth gritted. Isabelle softened her expression when she noticed Clary watching her, hoping she was conveying the feeling of “hey, I’d rather not pick up this call because I have to tell you something really important but my brother is an idiot.” 

“Hey, Isabelle.” Ah, that was Jace’s voice, alright. He sounded so casual, like he called her everyday. Which he didn’t. Jace probably watched his phone whenever she called him and laughed as he didn’t pick up and left her hanging.

Isabelle counted to five very slowly so she wouldn’t attack him through the phone.

“ _ Hi Jace _ .” Okay, so she hadn’t done that great of a job at calming down.

“Is everything alright? You uh, seem kind of...tense.”

“Do I, now.  _ How strange _ .” 

“I was just calling to ask if you had any ideas about what a guy should wear on the first date.”

“What?!” Clary looked up from where she’d been fiddling with her own phone. 

“Is everything okay?” She mouthed anxiously, looking genuinely worried on Isabelle’s behalf. Isabelle felt a rush of affection.

She gave two thumbs up and a smile in return. Clary still looked worried, but she went back to her phone. She was playing Candy Crush, most likely. The redhead had a strange fixation with the game. 

Isabelle realized suddenly that she’d been tuning Jace out unconsciously so she could focus on Clary, and reluctantly turned her attention back onto her stupid brother.

“-me, obviously not! Isabelle, I am appalled that you would think that I, esteemed dating professional, would ever need your advice for clothing! No no no, this is for  _ Simon _ . You know, he’s going with Raphael to the movies in like, what? Two days? And he was- shut up, Simon! I’m trying to help yo- excuse me? My hair looks perfectly f-”

“Wait,” Isabelle cut in before they could start an argument. “Jace, why wouldn’t Simon just trust your judgement for clothing then, ‘esteemed dating professional’?”

There was offended sputtering on Jace’s part that Isabelle chose to ignore, until finally Jace coughed and said, “Well, that’s a very good question. Um, you know what? I actually have to go, so…”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, go. Tell Simon I’ll text him. Actually,” she frowned, “why didn’t he just call me himself?”

Jace cackled. “Well,  _ somebody _ got a little, uh,  _ distracted _ , at Raphael’s place the other day and forgot their phone there. And that somebody is also too embarrassed to go an-”

“Bye Izzy! Message me on Skype cause I don’t have my phone!” Simon shouted from the other end. There was a sound that led her to believe that Simon had body-slammed Jace and forced him to hang up. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Sorry about that,” Isabelle said, smiling sheepishly at Clary.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she said, eyes narrowed in concentration as she looked down at her phone. Clary cursed after accidentally matching something before sinking back in her chair defeatedly and tucking her phone back in her pocket. “What was that all about, anyways?”

Isabelle smirked. “Well, dear old Simon has gotten himself a date with a certain Raphael we know.”

Clary’s eyes widened. “He did not!”

It came out a little too loud, and Clary shrunk as the other people in the coffee shop turned to stare at her.

“Sorry,” she said, almost as red as her hair. 

Isabelle glared until they looked away.

Then, quietly, Clary said again, “He did not. He didn’t tell me!”

Isabelle nodded. “He did! He wanted fashion advice.”

The redhead leaned in closer, grinning widely. “Tell me everything!”

And how could Isabelle not, when Clary said it like that?

  
  
  


“Wow,” Clary said afterwards, when Isabelle had discussed with her in detail everything Jace had disclosed over the phone. “I mean, I knew Simon was planning to ask Raphael out, but I thought he was going to wait like, another month.”   
“I’m glad he didn’t. I don’t think I could’ve dealt with one more month of them dancing around each other.”

Clary nodded in agreement. “It was so obvious that they liked each other. Almost as obvious as Alec and Magnus.”

Isabelle swallowed hard. Was it obvious that she liked Clary? Did she  _ want _ it to be obvious that she liked Clary? 

 

As if the redhead could sense her inner turmoil, Clary said, “So, what were we talking about again? Before the whole Jace-Simon fiasco?”

Isabelle was saved from having to answer when Clary remembered it herself. “Oh! Right, you said something about a crush?”

“Hypothetical,” she corrected.

Clary nodded sagely. “Ah, yes, hypothetical. A hypothetical crush.” She hummed as she studied Isabelle, before cursing when her phone suddenly went off. 

“I’m so sorry Izzy, but I’ve got to go. I promised to help Luke with the bookstore and,” Clary checked her phone, “I’m already late.”

_ Stay _ , Isabelle wanted to say.  _ Don’t go _ .

What she actually said was, “Oh okay. It’s fine!” as she helped her pack the box of pencils away and pushed Clary’s coffee cup into her hands. She fought the urge to look in the sketchbook as she gave it to the redhead. Clary had collected a lot of sketchbooks over the years, but this was the one she took with her whenever she was with Isabelle. She’d gotten it when they’d just started rooming together, and two years later, she still had it.

 

Clary smiled when she caught Isabelle looking curiously at the sketchbook. “I’ll show you when it’s finished,” she promised, pulling her jacket on and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

“You say that every time,” Isabelle grumbled fondly.

“And I will show you. Eventually. As for now,” Clary checked her phone again, “I guess you’ll have to wallow in suspense while I go help Luke.” She paused then, looking at the ground. “Actually…”

“Yeah?” Isabelle’s heart was beating double time. 

“About the crush thing…” she said tentatively. 

Isabelle reminded herself to breathe. 

“I think that hypothetical Isabelle Lightwood would have no more trouble getting a hypothetical someone to fall in love with her than the real Isabelle Lightwood.” Clary looked up and caught her eyes for just a moment, smiling shyly.

And then she was gone.

 

Isabelle slumped back into her seat. She covered her face with her hands. She was so screwed. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ The second time Isabelle tried to tell Clary she liked her was, admittedly, an accident. In her defense, it had been late, she was tired, AND she’d been pressed up against Clary.  _

  
  


“I think,” Clary yawned, “that maybe it’s time to go to bed.”

Isabelle hummed noncommittally. It was late and they had plans for brunch tomorrow with Jace, Alec, Simon, Magnus, and Raphael. Logically, she knew that they should’ve been in bed two hours ago, since their shared apartment was a good hour away from where they were eating. It was very hard to think logically though, when she and Clary were curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets, taking turns painting on each other with Clary’s paints.

“Izzy.” Clary said, poking her with the backend of a paint brush.    
“Clary,” Isabelle replied, nestling closer to Clary and determinedly refusing to move from her new comfortable spot. 

“Izzy,” Clary said again, sighing. “We need sleep.” She was smiling though, so Isabelle counted it as a win. 

“Sleep is for the weak, Clary,” she said stubbornly, reaching out a hand from within the blanket cocoon.

“I’m very weak,” Clary said, even as she obediently placed her hand in Isabelle’s, allowing the other girl to begin painting.

 

Clary’s paints had been a gift from her mother, who had noticed that she liked to paint on her skin and wanted her daughter to have paints specially made for that purpose, so they would be safe to use. One night, Clary whipped them out, asked Isabelle to push up her sleeve, and painted a fire-breathing dragon on Isabelle’s arm. Isabelle grinned, and after snapping some pictures, asked if she could try it. Clary had blinked in surprise, before eagerly nodding and holding out her own arm. The mermaid she’d painted was admittedly not that proportionate, or even recognizable as a mermaid, but Clary assured her that even so, she loved it. 

And the next Friday, they painted again. And then they painted the Friday after that. And just like that, it became routine. 

 

That Friday night, Clary had already painted a lion wearing a glittery red and gold scarf on Isabelle’s right leg (“For Gryffindor!”),  a cluster of violets along her collarbone that had forced Isabelle to take off her necklace (“What? I like violets, Izzy!”), and a strangely realistic portrait of Emma Watson as Belle from Beauty and the Beast on the back of Isabelle’s left hand (“It’s a great movie, Izzy, what do you mean you ‘haven’t seen it’?”). Isabelle had spent the majority of her time painstakingly working on a line of bees, so she would be able to point at Clary’s knees and announce, “That’s the bee’s knees.” As the bees ended up looking more like strangely colored jelly beans, Isabelle decided to go a different route for the piece of magnificence she was about to bring to life on the back of Clary’s hand. 

 

Clary watched in silence as Isabelle painted, until finally she asked, “What’re you painting, Izzy?”

“You’ll see,” she said.

A beat passed. Then Clary asked, “Should I read?”

Isabelle smiled, still focused on her work. “Yeah.”

 

Reading was another thing that had become routine. Before they went to bed, Clary and Isabelle would take turns reading from whatever book they’d decided to read together. If one of them wasn’t there, the other would either not read at all, or call and read over the phone. When Isabelle had gone home for the holidays last year, Clary called every night.

 

They were currently making their way through the Harry Potter books. Clary fumbled around with the hand Isabelle wasn’t painting on until she found  _ The Goblet of Fire _ . It was worn and old and had “Property of Simon Lewis” scrawled on the inside of the front cover. She hoped Simon hadn’t noticed it was gone yet. 

“Where’d we leave off?” Clary said quietly to herself. 

“Second task?” Isabelle provided.

“Right, second task.”  

Isabelle hummed happily to herself as Clary read. She loved hearing Clary read, and would sometimes speed through when it was her turn to read just because she couldn’t wait to hear Clary again. It was partly due to the fact that her voice was so soothing, and partly due to the fact that when Isabelle was nestled against Clary’s side, she could feel the vibrations as Clary spoke.

The redhead had read for maybe fifteen minutes when Isabelle triumphantly raised the paintbrush. “Done!” 

Clary marked the page with a sticky-note and closed the book. She brought her hand up to her face to examine it better. 

“Wow,” she said softly. “Izzy, this is…wow.”

Isabelle felt her lips curve into a smile. “You like?”

Clary nodded, still focused on her hand. “I like. I like it  _ a lot _ ,” she breathed out. “What is it, exactly? It looks like a language, like a rune.”

Isabelle felt her face warm at the praise. “I have no idea. I just thought it looked pretty. It’s really simple, actually.”

She’d used shades of green, for Clary’s eyes. Isabelle had originally just wanted something to represent Clary, but now, looking at the finished product, she could see a bit of herself in it, too. Isabelle found the letter “I” in the harsh straight lines woven in with softer curved ones, all surrounded by a crescent moon, a “C” for Clary. It had actually taken quite a bit of effort, because part of her time was spent trying to keep her eyes open and another part was spent stifling yawns. 

The redhead smiled at her, finally tearing her eyes away from her hand. “I’m going to take a picture of this. Would you draw it again later, on paper?”

“Yes, definitely.” Isabelle said, too eagerly. She coughed and ran a hand through her hand to try and save what little dignity she had left. “I mean,” she said, more slowly, “I will.” It wasn’t like her to be so awkward. She was usually confident in everything she did, and even if she wasn’t, she was good at pretending she was. Clary brought out a different side of her, one that she hadn’t liked before. But Isabelle found that as she watched Clary glow with satisfaction, she didn’t mind her gentler side quite so much.

Clary yawned. “Thanks Izzy. Now, another favor. Help me take a picture of it?”

 

Isabelle gladly obliged, snapping a few shots of Clary’s hand, feeling no small amount of pride that she, Isabelle Lightwood, had created a design her totally amazing roommate was totally in love with. 

And then, because she couldn’t resist, she took a few shots of just Clary, who had begun to clean up the paints. Then Isabelle put her phone in her pocket and helped wash the paint brushes. 

 

When the paints were stowed away and stray paintbrushes had been cleaned, Isabelle slumped back on the couch. Clary joined her a beat later, laying her head on top of Isabelle’s folded legs and curling inwards. 

“Clary-”

“Shhh. I’m trying to sleep.” She closed her eyes firmly, then opened them again. “Wait, were you going to offer head pats?”

Isabelle fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I was going to suggest that we go to bed, actually.” 

“Too bad. I refuse to move.” Clary sounded rather sure of herself and Isabelle sighed fondly. 

“Clar-”

“No.”

“It’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Don’t care.”

“Can I bribe you with head pats?” Isabelle finally asked, resorting to her final weapon.

Clary paused to think. “No, but we can stay here and you can give me head pats anyways?”

“Okay,” Isabelle sighed, “but you’re going to have to let me up for a bit. I have to go turn off the lights.”

The redhead grudgingly let Isabelle up, taking the opportunity to set her phone alarm so the two wouldn’t be  _ too _ late the next day.

When Isabelle came back, Clary immediately curled back up on her, wrapping the blanket around both of them.

There was a rather alarming storm of butterflies swirling around in Isabelle’s stomach, and she had to remind herself that they were just cuddling. Friendly cuddling, of course. 

Clary nudged her hand with her head. “Head pats?”

Isabelle gulped. She took a moment to compose herself. “Yeah, head pats.” She was glad that Clary couldn’t see her face, because she was nearly certain she was blushing as she ran a hand through Clary’s fiery hair. 

 

They sat like that for a bit, Clary contentedly humming as Isabelle combed through her hair.

Then the redhead sat up suddenly. Isabelle let out an involuntary hiss as Clary took the blanket with her, registering the sudden lack of warmth.

“Sorry,” Clary said, rubbing at her eyes, “but you’re not going to be comfortable sleeping sitting up. Lie down.”

“You know, we’d both be more comfortable in a bed,” Isabelle yawned, even as she obediently lay down. She was blushing again; she could feel it. 

“Minor details,” Clary said, as she lay back down, pulling the blanket over the two of them. She turned so that she was facing Isabelle, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her close.

Isabelle was suddenly very aware that her heart was beating very fast. Calm down, she told herself sternly. Clary was a cuddler, and she’d seen Simon and Clary cuddle platonically before, much like she and Clary were doing now. She was pretty sure Clary had slept on everyone in their friend group at least once, even Alec. There was no need to overanalyze. Then again,  Isabelle hadn’t ever cuddled like this with any of her other best friends, but maybe she was weird. Or had weird best friends. Or maybe this was just a Clary thing.

 

 

“Is this okay?” Clary’s voice cut into her thoughts. She sounded a little bit nervous. Isabelle didn’t let herself think of why she sounded that way. No need to get her hopes up.  

“I- yeah, Clary this is fine. It’s good.” Isabelle cursed herself in her head. There were a million different ways to say that in a manner that didn’t scream “I’m nervous and I don’t know what to say” and Isabelle had chosen none of them.

“Okay.” Then: “Tell me a story.” Clary’s voice was muffled by Isabelle’s shirt. 

“What kind of story?”

“Any story. As long as it’s a good one.” 

Isabelle laughed, low and quiet. “That’s not very specific. I guess I can think of something to say though.”

She thought a bit longer, than began. “Once upon a time…”

  
  
  
  


When Isabelle finally finished her story about pirate Cinderella, Clary was quiet. Isabelle thought that maybe the redhead was asleep, only for her to mumble, “Do Piratella and the weird guy with the sword get married?”

“If you want them to.”

“I think she should get married to the flower guy.” Clary yawned. Isabelle felt a rush of affection as she smoothed back a strand of red hair.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I liked him.”

Isabelle smiled. “I like you,” she said, without thinking. Then she froze. 

Clary didn’t say anything.

“Clary?” Maybe she could say that she meant that in a friend way. Or maybe she could say that she was sleep talking. Actually, did she even want to say something? Maybe it was better to pretend it never happened.

She waited anxiously for a response, then said, “Clary?” again.

Still no response. Clary’s breathing was soft and even. 

 

Clary was asleep. 

 

Isabelle didn’t know whether to jump for joy or bang her head against a wall. She settled for closing her eyes and hoping that in her dreams, she would do a lot less stupid things.

 

(Isabelle had a dream where she proposed to Clary, on a pirate ship, with a bouquet of purple flowers. She didn’t know what type of flowers they were, but she did know they were purple. Clary had already said yes when Isabelle tripped and fell off the ship. Great job, dream-Isabelle. Great job.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! comments and kudos are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! comments and kudos are always appreciated


End file.
